Evidence
by Queen of Duct Tape
Summary: Douglass has a theory and manages to talk Sacherell into helping him prove it.


**Evidence**

By: QDT

Disclaimer: Douglass, Sacherell, and Alan's closet all belong to the lovely Ms. Pierce and a publishing company whose name I cannot remember at the moment.

**One-shot. Because you can never have too much Douglass.**

"I'm telling you, he's not normal."

"Like you're any judge of that."

"Well, at least I like to swim." That sounded vaguely like sulking. And a sulking Douglass of Veldine was not pleasant to be around.

Sacherell sighed. "Fine. Let's hear it. What's so not normal about Alan?"

"Well, he doesn't ever swim with the rest of us ―"

"Yes, you've mentioned that already."

Douglass continued as though Sacherell hadn't said a word. "― and he's so tiny, and ―"

"Plenty of people are short. Why, my own ―"

Douglass glared. "― AND he's never shown a hint of facial hair."

"So? You shave. I shave. He could shave too."

"But, Sach, he's not even got roots."

"Some guys are late bloomers. Are you going somewhere with this conversation?"

"I'm getting there. So, after examining all the evidence ―"

"What evidence? He hasn't committed a crime, has he?"

"Not really, I don't think. I mean, it's illegal, sure, but ―"

"Illegal? What's Alan done that's illegal?"

"I'm not sure yet, okay? Look, all I'm saying is, after looking at ―"

"Just spit it out."

"Sach, I think that he's a she."

There was silence for a moment as Sacherell digested this.

Silence, and then…

"Oh, you _can't_ be serious!" Sacherell burst out laughing. He rolled to the floor, clutching his stomach and trying to breathe, and when he finally had himself under control, he looked up at Douglass. "You know," he said. "You really got me good that time. I seriously thought that you were actually going somewhere with that. Great…" he trailed off. Douglass wasn't laughing or smiling or really doing anything to reveal his delight in seeing Sacherell be so spectacularly got.

"Oh, no," said Sacherell. "You're not ― you can't ― you don't _really_ think that, do you?"

Douglass nodded.

"_Female_?"

Douglass nodded again.

"No."

Yet another nod.

"But ― a _girl_?"

Douglass, once again, nodded.

"Would you say something?"

"Do you want to go test the theory?"

"Test the…no. _No_. How do you plan on proving something like that?"

"Easy. Sneak into his room while he's playing chess with Sir Myles, find some evidence one way or another, and scram."

Sacherell argued, but Douglass had a gift of making everything sound so sensible. Of course they should break into Alan's room. No, Faithful would either be with Alan, or he wouldn't stop them anyway; Alan knew them. Of course they'd be able to find some kind of evidence.

And so Sacherell found himself kneeling before Alan's door, a set of lock picks strewn on the floor around him, trying to figure out the best way to go about this.

"Are you done yet?" asked Douglass.

"No, I haven't even star ―"

Douglass turned the knob. The door opened.

"― ted."

"Quit procrastinating," said Douglass. "Come on."

"Procrastinating?" Sacherell followed Douglass into the room. "Where'd you learn a word like procrastinating?"

"Geoffrey."

"Did you tell Geoffrey your theory too?"

"No." Douglass began looking under Alan's bed. "He would have laughed in my face."

"I laughed in your face."

"But he would've tried to send me to Duke Baird."

"Don't tempt me." Sacherell opened the drawer of Alan's bedside table, finding only a chess set. As he was closing the drawer and Douglass was peeking into the closet, they heard footsteps in the hallway.

"Won't be back for another twenty minutes to an hour, huh?" Sacherell glared at Douglass and struggled to fit himself under the bed as Douglass disappeared into the closet he had just opened. The door didn't get shut all the way, but Sacherell didn't have time to hiss a warning before Alan walked in.

"I have got to get that door fixed," Alan remarked, setting Faithful on the ground and going over to shut the closet door himself. The cat turned and, looking right at Sacherell, winked one bright purple eye.

"What are you looking at?" Alan asked his cat.

"_Nothing_," the cat mewled. Sacherell blinked. His ears must be playing tricks on him.

"Nothing, huh?" said Alan, unperturbed by the cat's ability to converse. "How about my chess set, have you seen that?"

"_Try the drawer in that table_," replied Faithful. Sacherell would have to remember to get his ears checked next time he saw the healer.

"But I was sure I looked ― ah. Thanks. Let's go."

The cat and boy (or possibly girl) left. After Alan's footsteps receded, Sacherell crawled back out from under the bed.

"You know, Douglass, I think that cat's the weird one. It winked at me. _Winked_ at me. It's a cat. What's it doing winking at people? And what are you doing in there, anyway? Let's go; we didn't find anything but a chess set, so let's just leave it at that." Sacherell pulled open the closet door to reveal shirts, tunics, hose, the usual things one found in such a place, and Douglass standing in the corner, staring wide-eyed at something.

"Douglass, come on, let's get out of here..." Sacherell caught sight of what Douglass was staring at.

Dresses. In Alan's closet. Five of them.

"I..." Douglass's voice was faint. He cleared his throat. "I think we found something, Sach."

_**fin**_

**Thanks for reading and please remember to review!**

Yours sincerely,

Her Royal Majesty Queen Abigail I of Duct Tape and Boredacea


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